


you don't have to say i love you (to say i love you)

by darkmochecoffee



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Excessive use of italics, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Lesbian Character, M/M, Pilots, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, im dumb forgive me, junmyeon being cute and annoying, kyungsoo being done, the fluffiest shit surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-02 15:03:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19201318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmochecoffee/pseuds/darkmochecoffee
Summary: Captain Wu Yifan cannot remember a time wherein he is not hopelessly, irrevocably in love with his best friend.unfortunately, said best friend is Kim Junmyeon and Kim Junmyeon loves everyone else, except Wu Yifan./We're like two halves of one heartWe are, we are, we are





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello, i'm alive and here's another unfinished fic that i hate myself for. pardon my trash. 
> 
> title is taken from troye sivan's 'for him'

“I moved on!”

_Not this again._

Yifan glanced at the godforsaken unlocked door and the particular tiny human being framed within it. Junmyeon’s smile is far too wide and his flannel shirt is two sizes bigger for his otherwise petite frame. His mop of obsidian hair is messy, like he’d spent the previous night in his mother’s antique curlers. Yifan groaned and rolled to his back. The clock on the wall across him glared a stark 6:47 AM.

It’s really too early for this.

“God.” Yifan’s voice came out like something crawled into his throat and died the night prior, “Myeon, I love you I really do, man. But it’s too fucking early for this. And we have this concept called knocking and yes, you’ve seen me in a lot of questionable situations but I’d really appreciate some respect. I don’t start the day before ten.”

And because Junmyeon knew his power, he pouts. Yifan’s internal monologue of how awful Junmyeon is for doing this to him, gets derailed. Junmyeon is aware that he is about 467 percent cute and Yifan is weak for his plump lip, jutting out.

“What do you want?” Yifan sighed. He grabbed a pillow and screamed into it. “And what do you want for breakfast?”

Junmyeon took this as an invitation. He trudged from the doorway and flopped right on top of Yifan’s splayed out body. They groan, Junmyeon in frustration; Yifan in agony.

“He’s got himself a girlfriend.” Junmyeon dug his chin onto Yifan’s slightly muscular chest and murmured more incoherent words that Yifan didn’t bother to decipher. He simply wrapped his long limbs around his best friend while said best friend whined about an ex-lover that should not be named. “He didn’t even tell me he was bi. I’m annoyed, he’s such a dumb fuck.”

Yifan is an expert on one Kim Junmyeon. They’ve known each other since they were in diapers.

Junmyeon and Yifan, they came in a package. They were the snotty pair of toddlers, the hilarious duo in middle school, the troublemaker _ _s__ in high school and the quintessential heartache harbingers in university. Now both in their early thirties, they’re still _more than_  close. Junmyeon is a graphic artist and does web design, Yifan is a pilot. Yifan’s family owns a large Chinese tech company so he’s rich as fuck, he can afford to go crazy sometimes.

And since Yifan is the Junmyeon expert extraordinaire he tells him, “stop fucking whinging about him.” Yifan aggressively raked his fingers over Junmyeon’s messy hair. “He’s not worth the tears and the hangovers. Plus, we all know you’ve embarrassed yourself far too much that Sehun has stopped trying to blackmail you with questionable videos of yourself simply because you also stopped giving a shit.”  

Yifan felt lips against his collar bone and deduced that Junmyeon must be childishly pouting again.

“But I was invested.” Junmyeon said. “I had feelings dammit. I thought he’s gonna be endgame.”

Yifan sighed, “god knows you’ve said that so many times already. Let’s just get breakfast. You can continue moping when you’re not hungry.

“Can I get pancakes with kiwi?”

“Whatever you want, Myeon, whatever you want.”

“love you.”

 

//

 

To put it crudely, Junmyeon is a _hoe_ (Yifan learned the double entendre from Twitter, go figure) Though he is a responsible hoe. He switches lovers whenever he feels like it and Yifan being the best friend that he is, is equal parts supportive and unnerved. It’s just the way he is. He has…tendencies and seeks validation from men he’s met throughout the years. Yifan’s tried to stop him, but there’s really no stopping Kim Junmyeon. He’s an unpredictable force of nature.

Though when he splits with someone, he’s always predictable. He cries about it for maybe a day or two, vows to not get into another relationship before he restarts the cycle all over again. His flings average for about two months. Though it did peak at half a year recently. The consensus is that he always rebounds out of the funk and emerges relatively alright.

It’s four weeks since the last time and Junmyeon doesn’t look alright. Far from it really. Yifan is mildly alarmed. He’s not the type to _actually_ interfere but Junmyeon has been staring at his Macbook without doing any thing that could be remotely called work while he binge ate glazed donuts.

Kim Junmyeon is a gentle being, and he’s not the type to hate on things inanimate or not, but he does admit to disliking one thing, and that’s glazed donuts.

“Myeon.” Yifan pressed the shutter of his camera. He’s a pilot by profession but if asked, he’d say he’s a better photographer. Junmyeon was a mess through the camera’s viewfinder. He had his hair pushed back with a plastic band and he’s wearing Yifan’s rattiest T-shirt.

Junmyeon has an apartment downtown but he hates how alone he is so he spends his days mostly in Yifan’s obnoxious penthouse flat. After all, Yifan cooks good food and he’s far too willing to let Junmyeon disturb his peace.

He can’t believe how whipped he is sometimes, he just is.

Junmyeon looks up and stares right into the camera. Yifan takes another picture. It’ll probably go to his Instagram without post processing because Junmyeon looked halfway between lost and adorable. And Yifan’s favorite Junmyeon, is lost and adorable Junmyeon.

Yes, Yifan’s Instagram is sixty percent (it’s really around eight-five but no one needs to know) Kim Junmyeon.

If it’s unclear, Yifan is fucking in love with his best friend. And not in love as in butterflies in his stomach and all the great romanticized things, but in love as in he allows Junmyeon to use him as an emotional punching bag until Junmyeon is satisfied. He suffers for it, really, but it’s his fault. Yifan has such a fragile heart, he’s sure it will literally collapse when Junmyeon gets rid of him like how he gets rid of everyone else.

Though Junmyeon simply doesn’t get rid of people. He’s far too nice for that. Yifan’s just a coward, he’s been a coward for the last twelve years. It’s fair to say that he’s brought all this suffering upon himself.

He looks at the image one more time. Photographs have never done Junmyeon justice, but even in pictures he’s still as perfect.  

Eventually, it graces Yifan’s feed garnering a considerable amount of double taps and keyboard smashes from Junmyeon’s legion of adoring fans. (also known as most of Yifan’s Instagram stalkers)

 

//

 

The bar where they hold their usual Friday meetings has never changed since their college days. It has perpetually grimy floors and Yifan thinks no matter how hard the maintenance scrubbed, the spots never go away. Tabletops are wooden with questionable stains that has been there since time immemorial. The overhead lights have dimmed throughout the years and the decor is trashy as always. The music is distastefully old fashioned.

It had one saving grace; cheap alcohol. But no matter how successful they became, they’ll probably stick to this hole in the wall establishment until it literally broke down from neglect.

Yifan watched his alcohol intake. He isn’t a party person, he’s more of the let’s-get-abso _ _f_ ucking_lutely-plastered-we-forget-everything-tomorrow type, but he mellowed down on the liquor if Junmyeon’s with him.

In this same bar, about a couple of odd years ago, was where he met the same fucking _assholes_ currently drinking their weight around the table.

Fridays are their thing. All unmarried but otherwise engaged in meaningless relationships, (except Byun Baekhyun and Park Chanyeol that is) Friday evenings are for drowning in alcohol and venting their sorrows.

Sehun is in a hideous purple shirt. He’s twenty-eight years old, their _demon_ youngest. He’s a first officer in the same airline Yifan works at. Beside Sehun is Kim Jongdae, a session musician and music producer, and he is fucking sloshed. He’d been laughing for the last few minutes and Yifan’s absolutely unsure of what’s so goddamned amusing. Beside Yifan is Kim Junmyeon, utterly quiet but otherwise red in the face and probably already drunk. Then there’s Byun Baekhyun, an author who pens horror better than Stephen King himself, or as what his fans say. Beside him, is Park Chanyeol, looking absolutely harmless in his messy curls and thick framed glasses. Yifan knew better. Park Chanyeol can flesh out an entire manuscript and point out every flaw and when he tells you what’s wrong with it, he’s merciless. He’s Baekhyun’s editor and before they settled their weird tension by finally fucking each other, god knows how many _liters_ of tears Baekhyun cried because fucking Park Chanyeol shut him down by saying he had no literary talent.

Yifan still thanks whatever higher being is up there for not letting the world melt over with Byun Baekhyun that day.

Junmyeon drinks seven beers, gets sloshed in his eighth bottle and unlike all the other times, he doesn’t have a meltdown in his ninth. Sehun is alarmed that Junmyeon’s not drunk enough to go into a passionate beer addled tirade and he’s not going to have anything interesting for Snapchat.

“Hey guys,” a glass is thumped down the tabletop. “I think I’m going to call it a night.”

Jongdae finished half of his beer before he directed a surprised glance at Junmyeon.

Junmyeon stood up. He wobbled a bit, dizzy from all the alcohol. He did manage to brace himself on the table, chuckling awkwardly. “I really don’t feel so good. See you all next week.”

Then he left, just like that. It’s unnerving, the way he doesn’t really wait for anyone to acknowledge him.

Yifan knew Junmyeon. He learned from experience.

 

Summer, give or take twelve years ago. They were sophomores in university. Twenty, bright eyed and not as jaded. Yifan cannot recall what had happened. He was trashed beyond belief and he said something to Junmyeon. He cannot actually remember. He woke up the next morning with a headache that he swore wasn’t wearing off until kingdom come.

Junmyeon was there and he had this look on his face, a veiled expression. He gave Yifan some aspirin and laughed at Yifan’s agony. Yifan saw through the facade, he knew he fucked up one way or another because Junmyeon acted like he was hiding some sort of illicit secret. Junmyeon was discreet about it, but Yifan noticed even the smallest things.

It went on for days. Yifan’s skin crawled and he couldn’t stop thinking. The moment he decided to confront Junmyeon, he stopped acting like Yifan had hurt him.

It’s the reason why Yifan rarely gets wasted with him anymore, he doesn’t want a repeat of the incident and risk spilling the entirety of his guts and that he loved Junmyeon so much he’d probably lay down his life for him.

 

 

The surroundings were always too loud. Friends laughed at each other, couples arguing in dark corners, and others screaming over beer bottles. However, theirs was silent.

“Something wrong with him?” Sehun inquired, eyeing Junmyeon’s form which is headed for the exit. Yifan shrugged before he stood up, “I’m not sure. I’ll take him home.”

They don’t stop him.

Everyone knew that Yifan didn’t get into meaningless relationships like all of them because he’s waiting for someone who’s probably never going to feel the same.

 

//

 

Yifan finds Junmyeon sitting on the curb near Yifan’s parked SUV. He’s under the sickly orange glow of the street light and he looked so fragile. His arms are on top of folded knees, his face pressed into the junction of an elbow. He looked so small. Yifan approached him, his shoes scratched against the cement and it seemed so loud in the otherwise silent vicinity.

“Myeon.”

Junmyeon looks up and smiles. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Yifan tells him, “Let’s go home.”

Car rides with Junmyeon aren’t usually so quiet. The web designer is a chatterbox, he starts and he doesn’t stop. Yifan indulges him, whipped as he is but he finds Junmyeon’s humor rather charming.

At the moment is a different case. Yifan has the radio switched off. He glances at Junmyeon, who’s face is turned towards the window. Yifan wants to know the secrets behind his impeccably blank expression.

But mostly, Yifan is just worried, a kind of feeling that slowly gnawed at his insides.

“Can you pull over please?”

Yifan’s vehicle careened into a stop. The request is so sudden. Out of nowhere, Junmyeon chuckled, the sound like nails scratching against a chalkboard in the otherwise ear shattering silence.

“Maybe it’s because I’m so fucking drunk -” Junmyeon inhaled. “But this hurts like a motherfucker.”

And Yifan kind of understood where he was coming from but before he could react, or offer his sympathies, Junmyeon hurriedly pushed the door of the vehicle open and he hurled most of the night’s alcohol and remnants of dinner on the sidewalk. Yifan cringed; Junmyeon’s retching sounded rather painful. The pilot sighed while he opened the front compartment of his car. His vehicles always carried some sort of electrolyte drink and an emergency medicine stash for times like this.

He unlatched his own seat belt and reached over to rub a comforting palm down Junmyeon’s back.

“Let’s not drink-” Junmyeon slurred when he’s done heaving his guts out, “because ChristI’m _dying_.”

“Here.” Yifan pressed the bottle to Junmyeon’s chest. “You get prissy when you’re dehydrated.”

Junmyeon, for the love of him, managed a derisive chuckle. “Glad you know.”

In normal Junmyeon fashion, the web designer managed to knock himself out within a few minutes. Yifan watched him, the flush of his skin pretty even under such dull lighting. He wanted to touch so badly.

He reeled himself in, fingers tightly clutched around the steering wheel.

Sometimes, he loathed himself for these feelings. They’re unnecessary and they bring so much pain to Yifan that he’s convinced there’s a permanent hole in his heart that would never close up. This constant need for Junmyeon’s affections is slowly killing him.

 

_I’ve really done it._

Yifan really wants to clone himself sometimes, and have that clone slap the truth across his face.

_He’s not going to love you, fuckface. Wasn’t it your grandest idea to make a pact about being bros from this life to the next? Well, it’s been more than two decades since then and look what your childhood shenanigans brought you._

__Pain. If it’s not entirely clear._ _

So much for internal monologues.

 

Yifan parked his car and dumped Junmyeon’s pliant, giggly form in the biggest washroom in his flat. The web designer was unusually happy. Guess he’s got Jongdae’s tendencies from years of getting wasted together.

“Fanfan.”

Yifan narrowed his eyes. Junmyeon tried to gather his bearings in front of the sink but failing rather adorably.  

“Let’s go on a vacation.” Junmyeon brushed his teeth, the manner most uncoordinated. He seemed to be having quite good fun trying to clean his mouth. “In an isolated island…where we can scream towards the sea, or skinny dip. _He he he _.”__

“I thought you hate flying.” Yifan remarked, browsing through his wide closet for ratty T-shirts that Junmyeon liked wearing. “And an isolated island? I hope you mean with electricity and Wi-Fi. I wonder what’s gonna happen if your person is separated from a Macbook. You’re probably gonna fry your neurons.”

Junmyeon answered with a giggle. “I don’t know. I want to see the sea! _Ha ha ha _!__ That rhymed.”

 _ _H_ e’s going to bump his head on my sink and crack his skull. _Yifan sighed and he dragged Junmyeon away after helping him rinse toothpaste lather around his mouth. The designer really had one too many bottles. He’s haphazardly trying to make his way toward the center of the dimly lighted room and he tripped halfway there. Yifan mentally praised his interior designer for the - he thinks - horrifying carpet that cushioned Junmyeon’s fall.

“Ow, fuck.” Junmyeon groaned. Yifan helped him up and Junmyeon was so drunk he simply leaned his whole weight onto Yifan’s broader frame. Yifan pushed the inebriated to his bed.

It’s a miscalculation. Yifan casually landed on top of his best friend. Junmyeon was very awake at this point and he’s smiling at Yifan and it’s that smile that made his lungs feel like they’re full of water and his heart squeeze into itself.

_Am I dying?_

Junmyeon pressed the pad of his thumb on Yifan’s left cheek. Yifan’s trying __very__ hard to gather his scattering wits.

“You’re so ugly.” Junmyeon said, giggling. Yifan’s eyes turned into slits.

“Screw you. I could be a model.” Yifan answered, rolling off of Junmyeon and landing beside him on the king sized bed. Thankfully, the situation has been abated.

“Don’t worry, I love your dad bod.” Junmyeon pressed his __freezing__  bare feet to Yifan’s leg before he scooted over and threw his limbs over Yifan’s body. “And you’re so warm, and soft. Perfect for snuggling.”

Affronted, Yifan grabbed the shorter and squeezed him in an embrace. “I don’t have a dad bod.”

Junmyeon breathed into his neck, chuckling in amusement. In his drunkenness he sounded particularly adorable. Yifan is perpetually in pieces.

Eventually, too tired from all that’s happened and the body trying to meld itself into his, Yifan’s fell asleep.

“Sometimes.” Junmyeon slurred, “I wish it were you.”

Yifan’s mind didn’t register the words but before he succumbed to sleep he thought about islands. Isolated islands…but with electricity.

 

//

 

“One of the greatest perks of having a filthy rich friend is free vacations but honestly,” Junmyeon gasped as the chopper left the helipad. “I really don’t intend on-” _scream _“__ dying! I don’t have a will prepared _ _!”__

Yifan coaxed the aircraft away from the island all the while laughing at Junmyeon’s theatrical display of distress. “Junmyeon, calm down.”

“I thought you only fly commercial planes?!”

“Don’t worry I have a license.”

Junmyeon being the digital nomad that he is, immediately agreed to Yifan’s proposition the morning after. He didn’t even remember it was his idea to go to an isolated island wanting to scream into the ocean. Yifan didn’t remind him of the latter.

Seven days later, Yifan bought a couple of first class plane tickets and here they are.

Yifan has brought Junmyeon to Bali, the French Polynesia, Santorini and Thailand. Hawaii is cliche, but otherwise a favorite. They’ve been to honeymoon destinations, laughing in disdain at their singleness.

The island is nothing short of beautiful. Not exactly the most isolated of places but the coast is to die for, with sand a shade darker than ivory, waters bluer and clearer than a Sunday in Spring.

In all honesty, Yifan has been to more pristine places than an average traveler but this one really takes the trophy.

 

The first day was a mess. Despite flying first class, Junmyeon had been incapacitated by a ludicrous bout of jet lag. The time difference wasn’t as severe but he still managed to hurl his guts out the minute they landed. Then there’s another chartered flight from the airport to the island itself, further causing Junmyeon’s insides to scatter.

There were limited properties on the island. Instead of hotels, villas are scattered about, complete with stable electricity but the Wi-Fi was entirely shoddy, Junmyeon couldn’t have sent emails even if he tried his hardest.

Yifan of course, was leased the biggest villa. It has two bedrooms with peculiar looking wooden furniture. There’s a high, vaulted ceiling from which artisanal chandeliers hung. The living space opened into a magnificent view of the ocean.

Yifan paid __a_ lot _to have this level of privacy. They could probably have sex on the beach without anyone noticing but of course that would only be a fevered dream.   

Junmyeon has long stopped asking about Yifan’s expenses whenever they travel together. He almost had a stroke when Yifan confessed to spending thirty grand more or less when he brought him to Bora Bora a few years ago.  

(It was definitely _more_ but Junmyeon didn’t need to know.)

It really doesn’t put a dent on Yifan’s perpetually thick wallet, they could blow a few thousand dollars a night and Yifan would be willing to spend more. He’s kind of crazy and he’s not sure if he’s in love or in pain. Don’t ask.

When he puts it like that, he really does sound whipped.

 

 _Help me._  

 

It’s the second day. Yifan thought it was a great idea to go see the cay from above. Thankfully the resort has chartered choppers available for guests. Now, Yifan has recently renewed his license to pilot a rotary aircraft and Junmyeon wanted a good scream.

“Yifan, if I die I’m going to haunt you for the rest of your -” Junmyeon let out a squeal, a really childlike scream of excitement _ _“_ Oh my god!” _

Junmyeon planted his face on the glass window. They’re a thousand feet off the ground and from this vantage point, the island is impeccably picturesque.

“My camera’s in the bag.” Yifan stated, his eyes do not stray from his position in the cockpit.

“Wow, wow, __wow -”__ Junmyeon’s exclaims are indented by camera clicks. For a fact, Yifan knows Junmyeon takes awful photos but whatever. “You think we can go see turtles? The pamphlet says so.”

Yifan shrugged and suddenly tilted the aircraft to Junmyeon’s distress. “Stop that __you asshole.”__

The pilot chuckled.

They circle the entire island. Junmyeon is so, so _gleeful._ He’s really gotten so good at pretending and Yifan tags along. The elephant in the room, the very reason they’re thousands of miles away from home in the first place, is momentarily forgotten.

When they land (safely of course, thank you very much) Junmyeon leaned forward and gave the pilot one of his _very important, very big hugs_. He’s like a child when he does that. He liked to press his nose on Yifan’s neck and breathed on the stretch of tanned skin just because he knows Yifan is horribly ticklish.

“Thank you.” Junmyeon said. He’s still attached to Yifan’s back, spindly arms around Yifan’s frame. “For not killing me and of course for this obviously expensive vacation. I hope you don’t bill me for everything you’ve paid for.”

Yifan scoffed. He’s acutely aware of the virtually zero proximity between he and Junmyeon and he’s trying to sound perfectly alright. Try being the keyword.

Why must life be so hard?

“You’re not going to be able to pay me.” Yifan joked. In retaliation, Junmyeon dug his chin on Yifan’s neck. __Abort mission, abort mission.__ “I’m going to sue you for putting my mental health at considerable risk.”

“Shut up. I know you love me.”

Yifan internally nodded. _Only if you knew, Myeon. Only if you knew._

“Unfortunately.” The pilot rolled his eyes, “I’m unfortunately in love with you.”

Junmyeon kissed him then, on his cheek, like he’s a fucking kid. “Love you too Fan.”

Yifan had to press his face towards the helicopter controls in order to calm himself.

Life is unfair.

 

//

 

There are about sixty people on the island that night, including the resort’s staff.

 

There’s a bonfire during their second night. Yifan was expecting a campfire and Smores made of expensive chocolate. They do get a campfire but there’s no Smores. Instead, there’s pricey liquor and topnotch entertainment.

Of course Junmyeon started to drink because his drunken promises of _let’s not drink again_ don’t count, ever.

He did try to control his alcohol intake of course. Yifan noted that Junmyeon’s been holding the same bottle of beer for an hour now. His cheeks are flushed, the shade pretty against his newly acquired tan.

Yifan snaps a lot of photos.

“Boyfriend?”

Yifan put the camera away and looked. The woman is _pretty _.__ Yifan took a second glance. She is probably of mixed ethnicity with pale skin, sharp features and stark cerulean eyes.

“Pardon?”

“Adorable Asian guy dancing from across us.” She mouthed towards Junmyeon, who is indeed being coerced to dance by one of the resort staff. “Boyfriend or perhaps husband?”

“No.” Yifan chuckled. What an odd statement. “Best friend.”  

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

She sat down beside him on the sand. “I’m Constance.”

“Kris.”

Junmyeon waved at him. The web designer’s probably already drunk. He’s wobbling and laughing at himself for that.

“Are you here with someone?”

“Nope.” Constance declared. “Trying to live my last days as a free woman.”

“You’re getting married?”

She laughed. “Apparently. I met the man I’m about to force myself to commit to, three weeks ago.” She knocked down half the contents of her beer bottle, “Fantastic. Good times.”

Yifan would be a fool not to sense the sarcasm, practically saturating her words. The need to suddenly apologize becomes clear but Yifan successfully fights the urge to say something. It doesn’t seem to be appropriate.

Constance seemed admirable, kind of. It’s a good thing that he hasn’t been forced to agree to the same predicament she is subjected to. Such archaic arrangements shouldn’t even be a norm in the contemporary world but some things will never really change.

They drink their beer in unusually comfortable silence, and somehow, something about Constance stirred Yifan’s thoughts. She appeared and suddenly, Yifan had the unusual urge to spill his guarded secrets.

He does.

“Can I tell you something?”

Yifan sipped from his bottle of liquid courage, his thoughts unbarred and tongue loosening. He’s usually stoic, not the most social of creatures but looking into Constance’s peculiar ocean blue eyes, has him speaking.

“Go ahead.”

“I love him.”

 

 

 

Yifan was eight years old the first time his parents took him to an amusement park. Bright eyed and curious Yifan had been so eager to try everything. He wanted to be up there, thinking he could touch the clouds if he tried.

It was a treasured memory and also, the first time he realized he couldn’t have everything. No matter how close he got, if it’s not meant for him, there’s really nothing he could do about it. He can try his hardest and nothing will be enough. This, he’d realized when he rode his first roller coaster and it dawned on him that he couldn’t touch the clouds.

(Though years later, he decided to be a pilot due to his residual childhood dreams.)

It’s the exact situation with Junmyeon. They’ve been together all their damn lives, it shouldn’t even be possible to maintain the kind of friendship they had when they were younger but they did, and they do now.

And Yifan _falls_ again and again.

“If it’s any consolation, people can’t tell if they’re not drunk off of this beer. Damn good beer if I should say so myself.”

Yifan managed a small chuckle.

She wiggled her bare toes and said, “You should tell him.”

“Easier said than done.” Yifan has on a sardonic smile. He’s holding the same bottle of beer for an hour now and he’s nowhere near drunk as he should be. He really tries not to, since Junmyeon’s already half shitfaced and he’s wobbling on jelly like legs, smiling beatifically at Yifan. He really can’t drink when he has _that_  to take care of.

“I know you’d say that.” Constance laughed. “Tried my best. What’s I suppose to say anyway? Run away from whatever it is your feeling? Like what I did.”

“So, you do have an experience on the area.”

“Christ, tell me about it.” She tossed the empty beer bottle onto the sand and crossed her legs. Her skin is the lightest shade of pink, Yifan noted like an afterthought.

 “How long have you been friends?”

“Give or take thirty years.”

“Goddamn. And you’ve loved him that long?”

“Maybe?”

Junmyeon looked at them and he’s waving a spindly arm like he’s so damn giddy about everything he’s witnessing. As usual, Yifan’s chest constricted and he can’t breathe, like he’s stopping whatever it is inside that wants to come out and it’s painful.

“There’s so much at stake. Thirty years isn’t a short time. I kind of understand where you’re coming from.”

“Sometimes I look at him and I just want to jump, fall into the abyss. Then I remember things that I can’t lose, can’t let go of. It’s like taking the plunge and suddenly remembering you can’t swim and you don’t want to drown.”

“I jumped.”Constance replied. Yifan glanced at her expression and notices the hurt so thinly veiled upon her pretty face. “I told her on her wedding day. We were standing in front of the mirror as she’s getting her dress fixed. She was beautiful and so far away from me. So, I said fuck it. I told her everything, that I loved her for what felt like an eternity. It occurred to me that I can lose everything, but then she looked at me and told me she knew. I realized I lost everything a long, long time ago. Telling her was simply an act of acceptance. I was defeated in war that never even began.”

Her words rendered him speechless. He wants to apologize for the situation she’s in but it didn’t seem apt. In retrospect, her life might be even more put together than the mess he is in. At least she had will. Yifan can barely process the thought of losing Junmyeon to an unprecedented confession.

“You should give him the benefit of doubt.” She said. “You’ve been friends for that long, if he treasures what you have, a confession isn’t going to drastically change things. Trust that at least.”

“I’m scared.”

Constance gives him a long glance. Her blue eyes are hypnotizing. Then just as suddenly, she smiled in understanding. “But really, who am I kidding? I’m here after agreeing to marry a stranger. I’m having a bachelorette party with a handsome, bleeding heart beside me to share my woes with. I’m quite certain my words mean nothing.”

“They do. It’s just that I’m not as brave as you. He’s a good person, and it’s better to have him close as a friend than nothing at all.”

“I guess that’s an acceptable reason.”

She stood up then, stretched her arms above her head. Her wispy clothing billowed in the slight breeze.

“I like you, Kris. Call me whenever you’re in Singapore. Or hell, come to my wedding. I’m in the hotel business, I’ll give you the best accommodations.”

Her card is black vellum, with her name and contact information stenciled in plain, silver letters. Yifan tucked it into his wallet.

“Sure.”

“Tell him one of these days, will you? He’s very cute, somebody’s going to swoop right in for the taking.”

Yifan laughed, “No kidding.”

 

//

 

As usual, Junmyeon is shitfaced. He’s all giggly and wobbly. Yifan is equal parts endeared and annoyed.

It’s late. Lights around the beach have been dimmed for stargazers’ satisfaction. Instead of the moon, a twinkling blanket shimmers against a calm sea.

“Captain Yifan Wu is going to get himself a girlfriend.”

Junmyeon slowly spun around barefoot. Their feet seemed to sink underneath sand.

“Myeon stop.” Yifan chastised, grabbing the web designer to stop him from moving. He’s partly successful. Junmyeon simply attached himself to Yifan’s front and his spindly arms go around Yifan’s waist. He started rubbing warm palms down Yifan’s back.

“You’re so, so __warm.”__

Yifan likes a lot of things about Junmyeon. He likes Junmyeon’s watercolor paintings, those that Junmyeon particularly abhors. He likes Junmyeon in glasses. He likes Junmyeon’s work ethic. He likes the way Junmyeon drinks his coffee and so on, so forth.

Then there are things he loves about Junmyeon.

Yifan loves that Junmyeon stood up to his bullies in fifth grade which resulted to them getting beat up together. He loves the way Junmyeon comforted him - by getting shitfaced together - when he broke up with someone he actually liked for a change. He loves Junmyeon’s ear to ear grins and his big heart that couldn’t seem to hold all the affection he has for feline creatures. He loves Junmyeon’s kindred soul.

He loves Junmyeon’s hugs and the way he fits just right.

And he indulged in these hugs. Junmyeon’s soft hair brushed against his cheek. Yifan held him tighter and he doesn’t want to let go.

Junmyeon whispered, “You feel like home.”

If Yifan can melt, he would.

The shorter giggled. “Sometimes, I think of being with my best friend. He’s tall and he’s warm and he makes killer pancakes.” _Hihihi _.__  “And he takes care of me. I’m a wreck and I rarely listen to him but he doesn’t ever get tired of me.”

Junmyeon’s drunk. Yifan had to remind himself and steeled his emotions in the process. But really, he’d rather allow himself to step into the fantasy and let it consume his entire being.

__Fuck reality._ _

“He does make killer pancakes. And he won’t ever get tired of his best friend even if said best friend likes getting himself into situations that gives me an aneurysm. He won’t get tired of bringing him to islands because the best friend loves islands, and turtles and pina colada. ”

__A_ nd I won’t stop loving you, even if it kills me. _

__“__ And beer.” __Hehehe.__

“And beer.” Yifan seconded, “You’re such a damn alcoholic.”

“You love me anyway.”

The way Junmyeon said the words drove a knife into Yifan’s chest. Junmyeon’s never going to fully grasp the gravity of Yifan’s emotions, and it drives Yifan _mad_ with pain.  

He stared at Junmyeon and if he could muster all seriousness in the entire galaxy and pour it into one single sentence, it’s this. “Yes, I do love you, so fucking much.”

Junmyeon stared at him. Yifan can drown in those eyes.

Yifan _loves_  him so fucking much.

Then, as if the universe has listened to his pleas, Junmyeon leaned up and slanted his lips against Yifan’s.

 

 

 

Yifan was thirteen years old the first time he kissed someone. It was with a girl who sat in front of him in math class. It was bad, didn’t feel right.

Junmyeon came out to him when they were fourteen. They were in the rooftop of their dormitory. It was midnight and egged on by peer pressure, choking on their first cigarettes.

“I think I’m gay.” Junmyeon said after his coughing fit had ceased. “Does that bother you?”

Yifan had looked at him and shook his head. “No.”

“Really?”

“Why should I be?”

Junmyeon had smiled. “Cool. So you’re not one of those...people.”

Yifan had shrugged. “Does you liking boys change anything about us?”

“No.”

“M’kay.” and after a while, “You know, I’m offended about that assumption. I’m not an asshole.”

Junmyeon had laughed.

The first time he kissed a boy, he was seventeen years old. The boy was cute, the kiss was okay and Yifan might have actually locked them inside a janitor’s closet to feel each other up.

It didn’t feel uncomfortable, but it didn’t feel right either. Yifan never really told Junmyeon that he preferred men.

The first time Junmyeon crawled into his bed, sobbing after he broke up with the first of a handful of men down the line, and practically cried into Yifan’s chest, they were eighteen years old.

Yifan was surprised that Junmyeon’s touch electrified him.

“Fucking asshole.” Junmyeon had complained and rubbed his face on Yifan’s chest. He was practically on top of Yifan. “I hate him.”

“Now, now.” Yifan had held him and when Junmyeon had gotten over it a few hours later, he’d apologized. He hadn’t ask for Yifan’s permission and had outright touched him without his consent. Yifan had forgiven him of course.

Two years later Yifan had realized he’s in love with Junmyeon and Junmyeon had never asked why Yifan had no qualms about Junmyeon touching him. He maybe just chalked it up to Yifan’s alleged non-fragile masculinity.

 

 

His brain short circuited and everything turns into a fading mum in the background. Junmyeon’s lips are chapped and he tasted of alcohol and simmering regret. Yifan  drowns in the feeling as he holds Junmyeon’s face and kisses back.

Honestly, he could die in this moment.

When they part, Junmyeon stared at him, slowly sobering. The horror painted on his face twists the knife embedded into Yifan’s chest and what’s worse? Yifan knew it was bound to happen. Junmyeon was drunk and lonely and he had bottled up all anger, and hate and probably vestiges of love he felt for the ex-boyfriend, the elephant in the room that they both decidedly ignored and it blew up on their faces.

“Junmyeon.” Yifan stepped into the fire and pushed Junmyeon out of it. “I understand. You’re drunk, you needed the affection. It’s alright, no harm done. Just sleep it off okay?”

“Yifan, I -”

Yifan squeezed his shoulders, such a platonic act after what they just did. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Let’s go back to the villa. I’m tired, you’re drunk and we both need rest.”

The next morning, Yifan made a calm decision to step back. One look at Junmyeon’s horrified expression cemented it for him. Maybe it was for the better.

Though the pain he felt didn’t really drive a point.


	2. Chapter 2

Kim Junmyeon is an artist and a web designer, he likes oversized flannel shirts and hole in the wall cafes that serve artisanal coffee and weird looking pastry.

His favorite coffee shop calls itself ‘Rose Line’ and named after that shoddy Dan Brown novel, no offense. It has walls made of red brick, and floors made of rough marble. The tables are wooden and rustic, the decor minimal yet sophisticated in earthy tones and amicable oranges. The lighting casts the perfect combination of ivory and ecru onto the place. Rose Line is owned by an eccentric dancer. On days the dancer is Kai, or Jongin, or simply a shout from a wide-eyed barista called Kyungsoo.

Junmyeon has had his fourth cup of caramel macchiato and his fingers shake when he attempts to draw a straight line on his vellum board. He’s beginning to become antsy and he can’t stop thinking, which ironically disregards the point of holing up in Jongin’s coffee shop. 

If it weren’t for Choi Minho he wouldn’t have been in this mess.

 

Choi Minho was a good man. Junmyeon liked to entertain the idea that he loved him. They were together for half a year and the relationship comprised of soft kisses, alternating rough and vanilla sex, and a lot of expensive dinners.

Junmyeon doesn’t even usually sleep with his flings but Minho kind of worshiped him, he was besotted. Junmyeon kind of gave in.

Really, nothing was _wrong_ about Minho. He was handsome, a gentleman, kind, and unbelievably rich. They met at a gallery. Junmyeon had lambasted his choice of artwork and Minho, bless him, found Junmyeon’s honesty attractive.

Junmyeon thought this was it, after so long of finding someone to settle down with, he’s finally found him.

Until Minho took him to dinner a few weeks ago, smiling like a benevolent Buddha when Junmyeon tried to order some fancy dish he couldn’t even pronounce. Minho waited until after dessert to tell him the bad news, god bless him the dessert was the most decadent red velvet cake Junmyeon has ever tasted and Minho probably didn’t want to ruin his appetite.

“Junmyeon, can I tell you something?”

“Of course. What is it?”

“I just want to say that the last few months with you have been the most amazing moments of my life.”

Junmyeon thought he was going to swoon, what a big fucking joke.

“But I think we need to take a break.”

“What?”

Minho was still smiling even after he carved out Junmyeon’s heart.

“Babe, let me explain -”

“Wait, back up Minho, you’re calling it quits?”

Minho sighed and beckoned for a waiter. He footed their bill as usual and didn’t explain until after they’ve exited the restaurant.

“Junmyeon, I love you.”

“Then why are you breaking up with me?”

“Because for once in my life, I want to be intently selfish.” Minho’s tone is firm yet sad. “I want someone who can reciprocate what I feel, it doesn’t even matter to what degree. I just want someone who loves me.”

Junmyeon stared at him.

“What are you saying? I love you.”

“No you don’t Junmyeon. You don’t, you can’t, and you won’t. This really fucking hurts, but I’d rather stop now than let it escalate into a situation I can’t get out of. Self preservation.”

That wasn’t the explanation Junmyeon wanted to hear. The entire situation was illogical and Junmyeon tried to calm himself down to no avail. It is true that he was unsure if it’s love he harbors for Minho, but at least he didn’t completely dislike him. They could give it time, and maybe, make it work. But Minho gave up on him, on them.

“Minho -”

A call had cut him off, typical. It was from the hospital, Yifan got himself into a minor accident at work and as per airline protocol, they had to call Yifan’s emergency contact person which happens to be Junmyeon.

His confusion dissipated so quickly, his mind automatically went to Yifan. Minho merely kissed him before bidding a final goodbye.

A few weeks after that Junmyeon learns Minho is engaged to some girl.

 

And now he’s here. And he kissed Yifan and he wants to run away from alcohol and his bad decisions.

“Who’s that?”

Jongin peers at his art before putting another plate of gluten free raisin cookies on his table. Junmyeon didn’t even think, he was drawing almost unconsciously with a charcoal pencil at that. He hasn’t even used charcoal since a year after university.

He’s really losing his mind.

He sips his coffee, distractedly.

“Who?”

Jongin points at the charcoal portrait, “That.”

Junmyeon looks down at what he’d just drawn and half chokes.

“Hey, are you alright?”

“I’m okay.” Junmyeon is not okay. The coffee had gone down the wrong pipe and now he’s coughing and hitting his chest trying to draw the liquid out.

He’s a mess.

“That’s his best friend.” Kyungsoo says, his tone drips with sarcasm. _“Best friend.”_

On the vellum is Yifan, with a grin on his lips and hair in a messy disarray.

Jongin examines the drawing and renders his judgment. “He’s hot.”

Junmyeon grabs the glass of water on his table and drains all the contents down his throat.

“You should see him in person.” Kyungsoo quips. “Six feet, broad as fuck and hot as hell. And once again, he’s Junmyeon’s _best friend _.”__

“Jongin, Kyungsoo’s passive aggression is attacking me.” Junmyeon’s coughing halts. He snatches the drawing and tries not to remember the way Yifan held him. He does not succeed.

Maybe he’s going to fucking sharpen this charcoal pencil and stab himself with it. Or Kyungsoo probably will.

“Junmyeon, really. He’s bringing you to expensive vacations without asking you anything or spread your legs for him for that matter. He dates no one, _your happiness_  is his top priority, and he practically looks at you like you’ve hung the fucking moon. Honestly, looking at him and your daftness pain me in equal measure. Don’t wait until he actually falls in love with somebody else before you start tripping over yourself in regret.”

Junmyeon gawks at the wide eyed barista. “What?”

“Jongin stab me.” Kyungsoo deadpans. “Just stab me.”

“Wait, so you’re saying that’s the pilot? Captain Wu?”

Kyungsoo practically murders the almond carrot cake in front of him. “I am surrounded by idiots.”

“I thought he was your husband.” Jongin sounds genuinely confused. “He’s not?”

From the counter, Kyungsoo murmurs, “Jesus take the wheel.”

Junmyeon feels absolutely attacked.

“We’re friends.” He actually wants to defend himself but his statement merely traps him further into Kyungsoo’s judging stare. “I think…?”

“Junmyeon, stop drinking coffee and just go home. Reevaluate yourself. Do us a favor before Yixing comes in and starts asking why your boy friend, best friend or whatever he is, is not with you. It drives me crazy.”

“Soo, don’t be rude.” Jongin pats Junmyeon’s head. “Don’t worry, Junmyeon. It’s going to be okay. I’m sure he loves you just as much.”

Junmyeon just sighs and eventually exits the cafe.

It’s Thursday, Yifan comes home after his long haul flights and Junmyeon usually spends the weekend with him.

Junmyeon thinks, reevaluates this habit as what Kyungsoo suggested. It doesn’t come off as odd to him. Spending time with Yifan, watching movies, cooking or doing their own things in the same place. These are normal things, and Junmyeon finds comfort in their routines.

Yifan feels like home. Everything is natural and comfortable with him. Junmyeon doesn’t have to hesitate with his actions. He doesn’t have to screen all his thoughts and and he can be himself without judgment.

So they kissed because Junmyeon was irresponsibly sloshed, and he needed affection and Yifan was right there looking perfect in lounge clothes and it felt so _right _,__ it didn’t have to change things between them, right?

Yes, it doesn’t. Junmyeon will eventually forget the feel of Yifan’s lips against his and the way it felt so right.

Yes, he has to.

 

> __Myeon, cant meet u this weekend. will b in SG meeting up wit a friend. Key cards wit d concierge as always let urself in, dont get too drunk on Friday. If u do, ask sehun to drive u, OK? Take care. Call me if theres any problem._ _ __

__

Junmyeon squints at the message. One of his biggest pet peeves is Yifan’s usage of botched up text messaging lingo. _Why can’t he just type you, the, be? And his apostrophes, what an outrage!_

He pretends to be annoyed at the way Yifan types and not the message itself. Friend, he said. Friend, as in the long legged girl who can put any supermodel to fucking shame. Friend, that girl with perfect skin who can make Aphrodite weep.

Yes, that _friend._

He’s so irritated all of a sudden and as usual, he drinks through his irritation and buys an entire box of glazed donuts all for himself. Junmyeon does not address the root cause of such ill feelings, he refuses to.

 

 

Junmyeon dated a fellow artist at one point in his life. Nothing serious, more of a touchy-feely acquaintanceship than an actual relationship. They debated about their favorite post Renaissance painters over cheap Dunkin’ Donuts coffee, and spent the entire two months of their odd partnership enjoying each others’ company at backdoor galleries.

And then along the way, he asked about Junmyeon and Yifan’s friendship since Junmyeon always made sure to introduce his flings to Yifan.

“You can afford the stability and comfort of having another soul so close to you that you meld together but at the same time, distinct enough for individuality to show through. It’s rare. It doesn’t matter if it’s platonic, romantic or even sexual. It’s beautiful all the same.”

Minseok told him he envied Junmyeon and Yifan’s relationship to such an extent. Junmyeon really never understood why.  

Junmyeon stopped dating artists after that. They’re too vague and they’re better off as friends than people he’d share a bed with. Years went by, he hasn’t seen Minseok in half a decade. The last he heard, Minseok was in Prague, doing some apprenticeship under a super elusive master of the arts. Minseok would surely flip if he knew Junmyeon quit traditional mediums a few years ago in favor of greener pastures, in this case combined web designing and graphic artistry.

But somehow, no one’s really understood his and Yifan’s relationship better than Minseok did.

 

 

Junmyeon tries to eat his glazed donuts in Yifan’s minimalist penthouse flat and sulk at the same time. Their Scottish folds Poongpoong and Panggi, purr against his denim clad legs.

“I hate your other dad.” Junmyeon chomps irritably, “He went to Singapore to see his friend and he’s not going to comeback until next week.” __c_ homp, chomp. _

He can’t even place why he feels so neglected.

He slept in Yifan’s bed that night, tossing and turning. With Yifan beside him, the bed didn’t really seem so spacious but as he stares at the unoccupied side he realizes that the empty feeling is not only connected to the temporary loss of Yifan on the bed, but also in his heart.

//

Jongdae is unusually busy that Friday and Sehun is unexpectedly called to work so he’s probably thirty-five thousand feet above the ground in an airbus bound for Australia.

In the end, Junmyeon finds himself third wheeling on the couple. He sticks out like a sore thumb. Baekhyun finished another novel so he looks emaciated but his mood can light up a room. Chanyeol is endeared, the smile has never left his face since he’s stepped in the bar with his boyfriend in tow.

“Yifan never misses our Fridays unless it’s for work. He’s really busy these days.”

“Tell me about it.” Junmyeon scoffs. “He’s in Singapore, probably gallivanting with that long legged, blue eyed lady he met on the island.”

“Why do you sound so…irritated?”

Junmyeon knocks down a shot of whiskey and the liquor burns a path down his throat. He really should stop drinking.

“I don’t know Baek. I just hate that he’s not here, that he’s not with _me_. I know it’s fucking selfish. Yifan has his own affairs to deal with and he can be with other people. But I’m so used to his presence that when he’s not with me, it’s jarring. I hate myself for feeling this way too.”  

Chanyeol groans. “One of you should just get over your joint cowardice and confess. It’s that simple. Yifan loves you, you love him, just fuck and be together already. The both of you are too fucking dramatic, it’s worse than Baekhyun’s attempt at romance.”

Chanyeol rarely talks. He’s the kind of friend that usually sits back and watches chaos unfold before his eyes and stays sober to rub embarrassing anecdotes over everyone’s faces the day after. But when he does talk, he’s usually spot on. It’s the reason why he’s such an effective literary critique. He points the problem out so clearly, no room is left for argument.

His capacity to see through everybody’s bullshit is a cherished aspect of their friendship.

Junmyeon is already drunk but Chanyeol’s words register so sharply he couldn’t even begin to formulate a coherent reply.

In the end he settles for, “What?”

Chanyeol stares at him and he looks like he’s trying to figure out the best angle from where to start peeling Junmyeon’s skin off, in true horror novel fashion.

“Do you even wonder why he chooses not to get into any sort of relationship and every one of yours never seems to work out? Honestly, you don’t stop to think why the both of you are too comfortable touching each other in all sorts of non platonic ways? Half of his flat is full of your things, you have an entire studio there. Your cats are there. And you call him, what, best friend? Damn, I’m best friends with Jongdae but I surely don’t go on numerous travels solely with him, nor live in his house. Hell, if I stay with him for more than a week I’m going to go stir crazy. You can deny this all you want, but the truth is clearly written on your face. You love him, you just don’t have the courage to say so.”

Chanyeol’s words, despite the fog in Junmyeon’s mind, register so clearly. It’s like the proverbial Newton’s apple or the Bigbang in Junmyeon’s own tiny universe. Suddenly, pieces of an overly complicated jigsaw puzzle fall into their rightful places.

_Fuck, I’m really, really drunk._

Chanyeol really doesn’t mince his words. He sits you down, takes one look, and writes an accurate analysis of what’s wrong in your life and how to fix it. Junmyeon appreciates the cutthroat honesty.

“I d-don’t know what to say.”

This time, it’s Baekhyun who stares at him. Unlike Chanyeol who’d basically tore through Junmyeon’s skin with how intense his expression was, Baekhyun looked more pensive, as if he’s trying to figure out how to string his words in such manner that would penetrate Junmyeon’s thick skull gently.

What a couple.

“Why don’t you think about it?” Baekhyun says. “Think about why your heart is at peace with him more than anyone else. All these feelings can be complicated, Jun. But they don’t have to be. Feelings would need time, but eventually you’ll understand when you allow yourself to think past the status quo and just fall.”

Chanyeol’s half homicidal expression changes, it melts off his face. He watches Baekhyun finish his beer and when the bottle is put away, the editor leans in to plant a chaste kiss on the writer’s lips.

“Maybe you should quit horror and start on the romance.” Chanyeol ruffles Baekhyun’s hair. Baekhyun swats the hand away.”Shut up. You told me I’m bad at it.”

“Your last manuscript was a Gothic romance babe, and it _is_ terrible. But you know what, a story about Junmyeon and Yifan would be great. The world needs another tragedy anyway.”

Baekhyun laughs.

Junmyeon takes it back, he hates them.

//

Later that night, he realizes how much he misses Yifan when his Uber driver didn’t even talk to him. Yifan never fails to entertain his woes after their Friday drinking sessions. Yifan always inquires after his health, if he’s alright, if he’s going to be sick, if he wanted to eat something. Yifan’s the only person who laughs at his bad puns when everybody else cringes.

and most important of all, Yifan supports Junmyeon’s art then and now.

_Your happiness is his top priority._

Junmyeon remembers a lot of things and not just all the memories in places Yifan brought him to. He remembers the quiet times, basking in the comfort of Yifan’s presence when the world loathed him.

 

 

Junmyeon didn’t just give up on traditional fine arts. He struggled for five years, survived off instant noodles and Yifan’s hospitality on days where all his money go to the best materials for his craft. Yifan supported him, had a room in his newly bought flat turned into a studio for Junmyeon.

Sometimes it worked, but most of the time, it didn’t.

Junmyeon has his first gallery showcase when he was twenty-seven. He was stick thin and sickly, like he’d used his own blood to paint. But he was happy, he was _ecstatic _.__ Finally this was it, the pinnacle of blood and sweat and tears.

Yifan tried his very hardest to hide the fact that not one stranger, not a single soul came to the gallery. Junmyeon remained positive despite the devastation he felt, but eventually, he looked at his paintings and realized that maybe he wasn’t good enough, that he shouldn’t have left home for his puny dreams, that he shouldn’t have challenged his parents for things like _passion_ and art.

And when it all dawned on him, four years of backbreaking work weighed him down. He felt it, to his very bones. He wanted to crawl back to his mother’s womb and never come out. It’s difficult to cope with failure, and Junmyeon’s own wasn’t an exception.

Then throughout all the chaos in his life, there was Yifan and what Junmyeon liked best about him is his candor. He didn’t sugarcoat, he didn’t coddle but he was steadfast.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up already. It’s your first try.”

Junmyeon remembers the beer bottles scattered in the vicinity. He was drunk and he wanted to lay waste to his studio, wanted to burn it, raze it. _Why can’t I be enough? Will I ever be good enough?_

Junmyeon couldn’t answer his own questions.

“Look, it’s alright. You’re exhausted, and your work didn’t meet better circumstances but this isn’t an excuse to give up. You’ve come this far, you left home to be an artist and you are, Junmyeon. You just have to rest and give it another shot.”  

Junmyeon didn’t touch paint brushes, didn’t want to see a blank canvas. It hurt far too much.

It was Yifan who gave him his first drawing tablet.

“Tinker with it. Quit being a caveman.”

And Junmyeon did tinker. A year later, he finds himself one of the best digital illustrators in the country.

It’s then that he found most of his unfinished portraits perfectly displayed in one of Yifan’s empty rooms. He didn’t think too much about it. He didn’t wonder why Yifan was adamant on keeping his old studio intact.

“For the memories.” Yifan had said.

 

 

The realization crashes on Junmyeon.

Yifan…Yifan has loved him more than anyone else.

The thought makes Junmyeon’s head ache more than a terrible hangover. His pulse is erratic, and it’s like he can’t inhale enough oxygen to stop his systems from collapsing.

Because this epiphany isn’t pretty, it scares him.

What if he’s wrong? What if he’s projecting his feelings unto Yifan after his last failed relationship? They do say things about pain, that it changes a person. Junmyeon is all the way convinced it’s happening to him. On the other hand, what if his friends are right? What if he’s trying to deny what he feels because of his and Yifan’s status quo?

It’s just that, the whole _best friends_  scenario works for them, they’ve been making it work for almost thirty years. They’re comfortable, they’re consistent and Junmyeon doesn’t want to change. Junmyeon is afraid of change.

Kyungsoo’s voice comes back to him, striking down his thoughts like lightning. _Don’t wait until he actually falls in love with somebody else._

It leaves an acrid taste in his mouth, worse than all bitter medicine.

Junmyeon thinks he’s going to have a nervous breakdown, he’s going to lose his mind in a backseat smelling strongly of cheap air freshener and week old vomit.

“Are you ‘kay there, kid?”

Fuck. He’s thirty-two years old and people still call him a kid.

“Fine.” He fixes his posture and tries to postpone the inevitable.

When he finally arrives home, he barely has time to rearrange himself before he crashes into the doorway of Yifan’s flat. He’s absolutely sloshed and he would have stayed lying on the floor if it weren’t for his cats licking him all over his face.

Junmyeon groans. “Hello darlings. Daddy is drunk, fucking drunk.” And if he could get even more pathetic, he would have crawled to the bathroom but he has more dignity than that, so he braces himself and stands up swaying towards his intended destination, where he decidedly empties his stomach. He hates himself throughout this process. Afterwards, he finishes an entire bottle of water and pops an ibuprofen. He knows he’s still going to wake up with an award winning hangover but he’s all out of fucks to give.

He decides against the guest bedroom and heads to Yifan’s. When he finally stumbles towards inviting royal blue sheets, his forgotten phone alerts him to a video call.

_“Are you alright?”_

Junmyeon stares at Yifan’s face and unconsciously slides his thumb over the screen. He misses Yifan, so much. It’s been two days and he’s already reduced him to this.

“Yeah.”

His head is swimming.

__“_ You don’t look alright to me. How many bottles did you drink? Who drove you home?” _

“No beer. Had whiskey. Uber.”

_“Honestly, stop drinking.”_

“I should.” Junmyeon rolls to his side. “I’m going to need therapy because beer is so, so good.”

_“Oh, shut up.”_

Despite the haze in Junmyeon’s mind, Yifan still looks so, so good. He’s in a casual shirt, most of his long hair pulled away from his face. _So handsome._

“Where are you?” Yifan’s background is noisy. People wandering back and forth from behind him.

__“_ Some hawker centre _-”_ Yifan looks away from the camera. Junmyeon sees him waving at some person he can’t see. The smile on Yifan’s face is indescribable._

_“Constance, come here.”_

Then, Junmyeon sees her. The woman’s eyes are really blue, features sharp even through the blurry image. She crowds her face next to Yifan’s and the fact that they look good together startles Junmyeon.

_“He is truly adorable, Fan.”_

_Stop it._ Junmyeon’s mind screeches. _Just stop it. Don’t call him that. He’s mine._

_“Myeon, this is Constance.”_

“Hi.” Junmyeon’s bones feel soft and he wants to move but he can’t, all of his energy zapped out.

__“_ Yifan tells me a lot about you. You should come to Singapore, I think you’d like it here.”_

“I might.” Junmyeon is so tired.

__“_ You look terrible. Go to sleep, Junmyeon. I’ll call you in the morning.”_

“’kay.” Junmyeon exhales and in one breath he says, “I miss you.”

Yifan doesn’t really say anything, doesn’t bother to return Junmyeon’s declaration of longing. He just watches him through the phone’s camera. There’s a small smile on his handsome face.

Junmyeon doesn’t think too much about Yifan’s lack of response, or dwell on his feelings, about why it hurt. His inebriation knocks him out and he falls into a dreamless sleep.

//

Junmyeon chomps his breakfast almost angrily. He’s hungover as expected, and his headache is practically trying to split his skull open. And of course, seemingly compounding his agony, Yifan left a voice message. _I’ll call you in the morning_ my ass.

_Myeon, I’m not going home on the weekend, change of plans. I decided to stay for a while. Could be a week or two, might as well explore the place. Call me, alright? Stay over as long as you want._

That morning, Junmyeon scrubs nonexistent grime off his face almost angrily. He hates himself and he hates Yifan and that beautiful, long legged woman.

__//_ _

Two whole weeks.

Junmyeon thinks he’s sprouted an entire ecosystem on his head. Yifan doesn’t come back and he doesn’t phone in, doesn’t even leave a single message. So Junmyeon takes the initiative to call, the pilot doesn’t answer, always some beeping answering machine telling Junmyeon the obvious.. Junmyeon leaves paragraphs and Yifan answers with infuriating single line sentences.

And Junmyeon suddenly wonders if this is what rejection feels like.

Even Van Gogh doesn’t cheer him up.

All he can think of as he stares at a replica of Starry Night is how Yifan must be having the time of his life, falling in love with that woman. He couldn’t even leave a darn message. Thirty years of friendship and this is what Junmyeon gets.

“I’m pretty sure you mentioned that Van Gogh was your least favorite.”

Junmyeon shrugs, “Well yes. I’m not fond of the post-Impressionist movement except Monet -”

__“_ Is the best ever.” _

Junmyeon looks at the person who’d finished his sentence and is surprised to see a very familiar face.

_“Kim Minseok?”_

“Hello, Junmyeon.”

Other than the obvious weight loss, Minseok hasn’t changed. Even his auburn hair is as vivid as five years ago,

Junmyeon doesn’t think when he throws caution to the wind and winds his arms around Minseok’s neck. He’s inexplicably happy to see the older man. “Minseok, oh my god! It’s so good to see you! How long have you been back?”

Minseok chuckles, returning the embrace. “A week ago. I’ve had enough of Europe. It’s so good to be back.”

“We need to catch up.” Junmyeon is shaking in excitement. “You need to tell me _everything.”_

//

 

And just like that, Yifan is set aside.  

Junmyeon missed Minseok. He missed his ambiguity and his mystery, his thought provoking ideas.

“Should I call you doctor now?” Junmyeon teases. Minseok subtly rolls his eyes, sipping his black coffee. “Please, call me professor.”

Junmyeon throws his head back, laughing in mirth. Minseok, at thirty-five casually gets his PhD in Cambridge, for art history. Typical. Minseok’s a purist though he’s not the type to scorn the likes of Junmyeon who’s switched fields in search of greener pastures.

“I heard you did a stint for Pixar.” Minseok smiles. “How was it.”

“God.” Junmyeon sighs. “That job was the most fulfilling thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.”

“Are you thinking of doing it again?”

“No. As much as it was fulfilling, it was backbreaking hard work. I’m not cut out enough for that and I’d rather the opportunity be given to people who actually want it.”

“I’m glad you didn’t quit art entirely.” Minseok says. “Have I ever told you that you’re one of the greatest I’ve ever met? It’s an honor.”

Junmyeon chuckles, “Stop. You’re going to make me blush.”

Minseok smiles his vague little smile. “And I missed you a lot, Jun.”

And just like that a familiar face zooms through Junmyeon’s memory. It’s so sudden, it makes him stop chewing on his almond carrot cake.

_I missed you._

It’s an intrusive thought. He hasn’t thought of Yifan in almost three weeks now, they haven’t seen each other in almost a month. The thought of his best friend has him feeling gutted

“Are you alright?”

Junmyeon tries his best to recover. “Of course.”

They revert to their previous topic until Minseok asks the inevitable.

“Junmyeon, do you want to have dinner with me sometime?”

Junmyeon nods, though he’s not entirely sure how great that would be for the two of them.

“On Thursday then? I’ll pick you up.”

“Alright.”

//

“You’re such a fuck-up.”

It’s almost two in the morning. Kyungsoo cleans tabletops while Jongin tries his very hardest to distract Junmyeon from his thoughts.

“Why did you even agree to that dinner with him in the first place? He’s your ex Junmyeon, and what you did was dangle hope right in his face without intending to give it.”

“I agree.” Junmyeon says. “I fucked up. And I can’t seem to stop fucking up.”

Kyungsoo sighs and temporarily aborts his mission of making the tabletops shine. He sits in front of Junmyeon and bores a hole right into Junmyeon’s soul.

“I’m telling you this because no matter how annoying you are, you’re still my friend.” Kyungsoo’s uses a voice so gentle, Junmyeon thinks he’s hallucinating. “And no matter how murderous I probably look right now, I wish nothing for you but happiness.”

“I don’t know what I feel.” Junmyeon admits, “We’ve been just friends for so long, Soo. Just friends for almost three decades. What if I fuck it up, what if lose him?”

Kyungsoo lends him an even stare, silently urging Junmyeon to finish his sentence. “But at the same time, I don’t want him with somebody else. It’s incredibly selfish to say but the thought of it kills me.”

Kyungsoo smiles, patient. “Tell him what you feel and take it slowly. Allow whatever it is between you both to bloom. You don’t need to rush into things you’re not ready for.”

Junmyeon exhales shakily. “We haven’t talked for nearly a month. I miss him so much.”

“I know, Junmyeon. I know.”

//

 

Junmyeon never really wondered why Yifan kept most of his earliest works. He sees these paintings scattered about Yifan’s home, like a montage to his failure. The paintings are mediocre, no wonder he never succeeded.

His cats nuzzle his legs, begging for affection. He picks Panggi off the floor and the feline purrs against his neck. “I know darling, I miss him too.”

And like Yifan can hear his longing from a few countries away, Junmyeon’s phone rings. He answers in a heartbeat.

Junmyeon breathes. “Yifan.”

The pilot is on a dimly lit balcony, a half filled ashtray perched on the railing behind him

_“Junmyeonie, I miss you.”_

Junmyeon’s heart rate picks up. “I miss you too, Fan. Why haven’t you returned my calls?” Junmyeon can’t even find it in himself to be angry.

Yifan shrugs and Junmyeon realizes the man is drunk.

 _ _“_ Can’t. I would’ve missed you too much.”_ Yifan answers, _“Negates the entire reason why I’m here.”_

“Why?”

__“_ I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” _

“Why would you make me uncomfortable, Yifan?”

_“After what happened, I’m bound to make you uncomfortable.”_

“You won’t.”

Yifan doesn’t answer, he stares at Junmyeon through the phone’s camera and then he says, _“I want to feel bad that Minho ended things between you two. But I can’t. I’m honestly glad you broke up. But your pain agonizes me just as much.”_

“Why?”

_“If I tell you, I will lose you and it’ll kill me.”_

Junmyeon replaces Panggi back to the floor. Yifan will not remember this tomorrow so Junmyeon decides to cross a bridge that collapses behind him. __“__ Yifan, years ago, we got drunk and you told me something.”

_“Sorry Myeon. Alcohol makes me brave because I can’t remember anything after.”_

“I know.” Junmyeon chuckles, “But Yifan, you once told me you loved me.”

Yifan exhales. _“I’m sorry.”_

“Did you mean it?”

Yifan moves and Junmyeon sees a lot of empty bottles behind him. _“Yes Junmyeon, I meant it then. And I’ll tell you that I love you, and I mean it still.”_

 _ _“__ Yifan, I - “

__“_ Wait until I get back. You can break my heart then. Good night, Junmyeon.” _

And the call disconnects.

//

Kim Minseok is a gem. He’s distinct against all the people Junmyeon has been with and the only artist he ever dated. Kim Minseok is just that special.

So when Minseok attempts to kiss him after their incredibly sumptuous dinner, Junmyeon gives in. And Junmyeon might as well burn in the fifth circle of hell because as he kisses Minseok, all he can remember is Yifan’s lips.

Junmyeon breaks the liplock and tries to belie the panic bubbling from his gut. “Minseok, I’m sorry.”

Minseok looks at him, resigned. “So, Wu Yifan.” He says. “I thought I finally have my chance, it’s been five long years after all.”

“Minseok, I’m really so sorry. I’m so fucked up.”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Minseok takes him into an embrace. “It’s alright, it’s alright.”

Junmyeon bites into his lower lip and tries not to sob. “I’m so sorry.”

“One of these days, tell him, alright. Tell him you love him.”

The dam breaks and Junmyeon silently sobs on the man’s shoulder. They’re outside the restaurant. Junmyeon ignores all the odd looks thrown their way. He just wants to cry, wants a release.  

When Junmyeon calms down, he refuses Minseok’s offer to drive him back. Minseok, being the benevolent soul that he is, doesn’t refute him.

//

Junmyeon’s mind scatters as he traverses through busy streets.

_Myeon, im back. Want to have dinner later?_

The artist read that message about an hour ago, just before his dinner with Minseok.

He envies that about Yifan, the way he completely forgets the things he does or the words he says when he’s had enough alcohol in his system. Junmyeon wants to jog his memory. Just to be cruel.

His phone doesn’t stop ringing and it vibrates in his pocket almost irritatingly. He honestly does not wish to talk to any coherent human being at the moment. He wants to be alone so he could drown in his own thoughts.

But in the end, he caves to his own pathetic needs. When the phone rings for the seventh time he picks it up.

__“_ Where are you?” _

Junmyeon knows Yifan is worried. He _sounds_  worried.

Junmyeon has been aimlessly wandering for so long that he finds himself unaware of his own surroundings.

 _ _“__ Yifan?” He croaks into the phone, sobs shaking his entire body.

_“Junmyeon are you alright? Where are you?”_

“I-I’m not sure. Down town I think?” Junmyeon just sobs, “I’m so sorry, Yifan, oh my god. I’m such a fuck up.”

_“Junmyeon, get yourself somewhere safe, alright? Don’t drop this call, just go somewhere safe and allow me to come get you.”_

Yifan’s voice washes over Junmyeon, comforting him. He doesn’t drop the call, not until twenty minutes later when Yifan comes bursting through the door of the cafe he’s been at. Yifan is still in his pilot’s uniform, all of his long hair completely pulled away from his face. It’s so unlike him. Yifan doesn’t usually leave the airport without switching to plainclothes. He says the uniforms make him look ancient.

Junmyeon disagrees, seeing his best friend and possibly the love of his life, in that  majestic uniform makes Junmyeon want to hunch over and sob into his fist.

 _“Jesus christ.”_ Yifan exclaims once he spots Junmyeon. He takes three strides and engulfs Junmyeon into his embrace. __“_ I was so fucking worried, don’t you dare do that again.”_

The pilot is crushing his bones. They’re standing in the middle of the shop and Yifan is panting into Junmyeon’s hair like he’s frightened. _“Don’t do that again, don’t call me, crying. Jesus, you’re going to send me into cardiac arrest.”_

Yifan’s presence is like a balm. Junmyeon breathes in his scent and clutches him harder.

//

 

They’re inside Yifan’s vehicle and not one word is spoken. Junmyeon stares out of the window while Yifan tries to regulate his breathing and bring down his blood pressure. He needs a smoke, just to take the edge of his panic.

More than thirty days away from Junmyeon hasn’t helped him one bit. To make it worse, his reaction to Junmyeon’s tears is completely and totally upon impulse. Junmyeon’s voice was shaking, and he was sobbing like a goddamned child. Yifan couldn’t have exited the airport any faster. He just ran.

And now they’re here.

“Myeon, what happened?” Junmyeon doesn’t answer. He just looks at Yifan with bloodshot eyes and asks him to drive.

Yifan nods, “Alright.” He’s jet lagged and far too exhausted to argue.

They arrive at his penthouse. Yifan’s energy is entirely zapped from his body. After he leaves his shoes in the doorway, he makes a beeline towards the black couch in his living space and just crashes there. The room is thick with tension. Junmyeon doesn’t even move from where he’s standing.

Yifan glances at him and belatedly notes that Junmyeon’s dressed differently tonight. No oversized flannel, or cartoon shirts and no glasses. He’s very handsome in that white turtle neck tucked into black slacks.

Yifan’s chest aches. He wants to touch so fucking badly but he is tired to his bones and he’s not about to hibernate without getting Junmyeon to explain why he’s just standing there, unmoving and staring at Yifan like Yifan’s a fucking ghost.

Yifan sits up and lends Junmyeon an imploring stare. “Junmyeon, I’m really worried.”

Junmyeon approaches, stands before Yifan and doesn’t give the pilot a warning when he deposits himself onto Yifan’s lap. Junmyeon throws his arms around Yifan’s neck, his legs bracket Yifan’s thighs.

Tonight, Kim Junmyeon’s intent must be to give Wu Yifan multiple fucking heart attacks.  

Instead of pushing the artist away and asking him what his problem is, Yifan pulls Junmyeon closer, chests pressed against each other. He’s so weak. They stay like that for minutes, or hours, Yifan isn’t sure. He just runs his palms down Junmyeon’s back, squeezing him every now and then.

And then Junmyeon whispers, “I love you.”

He’s heard Junmyeon say those words to him countless of times throughout the years. But tonight, there’s no hint of sarcasm, or mirth. Junmyeon exhales into his neck. Yifan stills, squeezes Junmyeon just a bit tighter because he can’t seem to breathe properly.

“Yifan?”

“I know. Not in that way.” Yifan cuts him off. “Let me bask in it.”

Junmyeon removes his face from its position on Yifan’s neck. He doesn’t give Yifan time to react when he leans forward and presses his lips onto the pilot’s.

Yifan has kissed a lot of people in his lifetime. But no one felt right. Sometimes, people do say the truth. It’s different kissing someone you love.

They kiss and Yifan doesn’t want it to end. He doesn’t want Junmyeon to realize that he’s committing another mistake. They part and Junmyeon dives in again, he’s raking Yifan’s hair, tugging the tie off. Yifan groans, wants to etch an imprint of his lips onto Junmyeon’s skin.

His hands press to Junmyeon’s narrow hips, Yifan is on fire and his desire will burn them both.

“Junmyeon.” Yifan’s voice is hoarse. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

“Everything.”

Yifan will break into minute pieces. If Junmyeon continues, there won’t be anything left, he will shatter into dust.

“Junmyeon, _god please,_  don’t do this. Not, if you don’t mean it. I love you so much, you will fucking destroy me.”  

Yifan sobs, he hasn’t cried in front of another person in so long and he feels like falling apart holding Junmyeon. To be overwhelmed by the emotions he’s kept at bay for years is painful. Everything leaks out of his system and he’s powerless to stop it.

“I love you. I love you. _I love you.”_ Yifan repeats it like a mantra as if by some miracle it would make Junmyeon feel the same, even if its futile, he tries. He breathes the words like a prayer.

“I know.” Junmyeon presses another chaste kiss against Yifan’s lips.

“You don’t understand.” Yifan pulls away, scathed. He wants to scream. “I can’t be your rebound, Junmyeon. It’s been so long, twelve fucking years. You’re in pain, but I don’t want to be just someone who’d distract you from it. I can’t Myeon, I can’t, it’s going to kill me.”

“I do understand, Fan. I know, it’s going to be hard for you to accept me. After all, it took me years and a bad breakup. Believe me, I get it.” Junmyeon wipes the liquid from under Yifan’s eyes. “But now, I want to love you like how you’ve loved me all these years, if you’d allow it. Let me prove it to you.”

A fresh wave of tears overtakes Yifan’s entire body. He cannot stop himself from fucking crying. It’s too much.

“Please.” He sobs against Junmyeon’s chest. “And don’t break me. I won’t survive it.”

“I won’t Fan, I won’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know, lotsa tears but pls its still so sappy. im sappy, i dont know how to write properly anymore. forgive me


	3. Chapter 3

Junmyeon’s bravery stemmed from Yifan’s vulnerability.

He stares at the ceiling of Yifan’s bedroom. The pilot is in his arms after literally crying himself to sleep. It’s fascinating. Junmyeon has hardly seen Yifan cry. He’s not the most emotional of people, and he’s got most of his deeper sensibilities under lock and key. To have seen him break down like that, Junmyeon began to take control. To pacify himself and Yifan. Put a stopper into his own feelings so he could phrase the words better. Yifan deserves that from him at least. 

Also, he didn’t like seeing Yifan cry.

And somehow, it became clear that he loves Yifan just as much. Junmyeon doesn’t want to elaborate upon which type of love it is, but he vows to be steadfast in what he’s inadvertently promised.  

He cards his fingers through Yifan’s hair as he thinks about the last few hours. He didn’t expect it would be the other way around. He was going to cry, and have a nervous breakdown from all the convoluted mess in his being. Yifan was going to comfort him, tell him everything’s going to be alright, and say other things Junmyeon would have wanted to hear.

Yifan’s presence overwhelmed him, in a good way, so he said the words that shouldn’t have been so precariously voiced. Admittedly, he shouldn’t have been so careless as to say things that needed more mind space. He knew Yifan’s feelings, Yifan had said it to him when he’s weakened by alcohol.

He’d confessed solely depending on what Yifan felt for him. Junmyeon is despicable like that, and Yifan broke down in front of him. His reaction was so unexpected. Junmyeon was waiting for a rejection, a confirmation that Yifan has long moved on from him. None he got. It’s scathing to learn that Yifan has loved him for so long while he’d toyed with others.

One of these days, Junmyeon is going to get his reckoning and he hopes it won’t be too heavy.

Yifan stirs in his hold and Junmyeon has another epiphany. He’s shared a bed with him countless of times, they’ve held each other purely for comfort. It’s normal, natural for them to do so.

_Why is your heart at peace with him?_

Junmyeon smiles. I love him, that’s why.

He tightens his embrace and falls asleep.

 

//

 

Junmyeon wakes to Yifan’s face. The pilot is sat on the edge of the bed and he stares at Junmyeon like he wants to unravel a complicated puzzle on Junmyeon's countenance.

“Hi.” Junmyeon begins, fits his fingers around Yifan’s bony wrist and pulls him down to lie beside him. “Good morning.”

“Myeon. I’m about to start freaking out again.” Yifan announces. “I can feel my blood pressure rising.”

“You won’t.” Junmyeon tells him and caresses the side of his face. “Still so ugly.”

Yifan’s brows furrow. “Take that back.”

Junmyeon shakes his head. “Maybe next time.”

Yifan laughs, rolls on top of Junmyeon. Junmyeon leans up and kisses him.

“What brought this on?” Yifan asks against the seam of Junmyeon’s mouth. “Was my pining too obvious? Did it finally get across?”

Junmyeon wraps his arms around Yifan’s neck. “Perhaps jealousy. Probably a foul smelling backseat, Chanyeol, Baekhyun, my friends at Rose Line, and Kim Minseok. It’s complicated.”

Yifan presses tiny pecks into Junmyeon’s neck. Junmyeon squirms. “Then make it less complicated for me, please.”

“I just had an epiphany, Fan. Do you know that you’ve never been out of the country without me before? We went to Europe together, to Southeast Asia and everywhere else always, always together.”

“Do I?”

“Except when you’re at work of course.” Junmyeon says, “Then suddenly, you’re in Singapore for too long, without me. It was unnerving. And I was fucking beside myself in jealousy.”

“Jealous, why? Haven’t you been to Singapore before?”

“Don’t be stupid. I was jealous of that pretty woman. Constance, right?”

Yifan looks at him with the most infuriatingly innocent expression. Junmyeon just wants to shake him. “Constance was supposed to get married last week, that’s why I stayed that long. But then she had cold feet and postponed it for next month.”

“Married?”

“Yes, Junmyeon.” and Yifan laughs at his face. “You were jealous? I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you.”

“I hate you.”

“I don’t like women in that way, Junmyeon. I’m sorry I forgot to mention it.”

“Since when?”

“Since I was seventeen, I guess.”

“I really hate you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

 

//

 

“Something’s definitely changed.”

They gather that Friday evening. Sehun has girl problems, a first for him, and he gets all emotional about it. Jongdae brings his own brand of comfort, by insulting Sehun that is. They know their youngest operates like Junmyeon when it came to relationships, the more the better.

Junmyeon should talk him one of these days. He needs to tell Sehun not to settle down but reorganize his thoughts, reconnect with his inner being and soul search or something. After all, Junmyeon does not want Sehun to end up like him, of all people. He’s been through messy relationships, a couple of heartbreaks, until Yifan. Most of it had been chaos and he's licensed to say that the experience is not entirely worth it.

“What changed?” Junmyeon asks. He watches the condensation from his beer bottle drop towards the table. Surprisingly, he’s so unbelievably sober. From under the table, Yifan traces the ridges of his palms, Junmyeon is hyper aware of the littlest movements. He sometimes catches Yifan’s fingers, and he tangles them with his own.

Across the table, Jongdae averts his gaze. He temporarily stops attacking Sehun and stares at Junmyeon and Yifan. “About you both. It’s weird, but it’s not. What’s happening?”

“You should ask Chanyeol and Baekhyun.” Junmyeon throws a chip at Chanyeol’s direction, laughing. “It’s their fault.”

“I’m pretty sure, they started fucking.” Chanyeol casually announces. “It happens when you fuck a friend, flowers appear in the background.”

“Fuck you, Park.” Yifan laughs.

“You’re welcome, Captain Wu.” Chanyeol replies with a flourish.

“So, can I now announce that elusive Captain Wu who never attends team building activities, is taken?” Sehun sniffles against his beer bottle. “Everybody asks me about you. They want to get into your pants, I suppose.”

Junmyeon levels the younger pilot with an even stare. “You can tell these people that he’s mine, and I haven’t even allowed the most beautiful blue eyed woman to have him. I guess they’re out of luck.”

Baekhyun gags, “Christ, look at them. It’s fucking sickening.”

“Don’t you start, Byun. You and Park were worse. At least they’re not trying to fuck in front of us, unlike you two.”

From beside Junmyeon, Yifan laughs loudly. Junmyeon is endeared.

//

“I haven’t driven in so long.” Junmyeon says as Yifan climbs into his vehicle. Yifan’s tipsy, but not nearly as wasted as Junmyeon would be during Friday nights. “And I don’t remember being this sober on a Friday night.”

Yifan giggles. “You now know everything. It's not like I’m going to say something else to incriminate myself further.”

Junmyeon ignites the engine, and the car steadily rumbles to life. “You were also drunk the first time you told me you loved me. I avoided you like the plague.”

“So, that's what happened.” Yifan slurs. “Sorry. I still love you though, don’t run away.”

“I won’t Yifan. I promise.”

Junmyeon eases the vehicle onto the road. Yifan’s palm rubs down his thigh, and Junmyeon tries not to get distracted.

“I love you a lot.” Yifan tells him. “I love your face, your skin, your voice, your existence. I thought I was gonna wait forever.”

“Why did you never tell me again, Fan?”

Yifan shrugs. “I don’t know. I was afraid. You’ve been with all these people and I had no chance. At one point, I was far too terrified to act on my feelings, I thought I’d lose you.”

“You won’t. Even if it came to the worst possible outcome, you’ll have me always. We're fucking best friends, aren't we?”

“I know. I just don’t want to cross into a new territory by myself. Just like when we travel, I will always want you with me.”

The words can make Junmyeon’s gut twist. No other person knows him as well as Yifan. The pilot can unravel him from head to toe, knows every little secret, his nuances, things he loves, things he abhors.

Junmyeon takes Yifan’s knuckles onto his lips, presses a chaste kiss against skin.

“You’re going to melt me.”

 

//

 

When Yifan is drunk he drinks tea, the strong herbal kind. He likes to sit down and have someone draw patterns on his skin. He likes to be coddled.

It’s a nuance that Junmyeon learns.

Yifan leans against Junmyeon, the latter’s back supported by the wooden headboard of Yifan’s king sized bed. Junmyeon casually runs his fingers through Yifan’s hair, the strands are unexpectedly soft. Yifan’s drunkenness isn’t receding, and the alcohol in his system merely amplifies the feel of Junmyeon’s small touches.

The room is suddenly hot, and Yifan can’t seem to get enough of Junmyeon’s skin against his. He wants to press Junmyeon against the royal blue sheets, and mark him down. Or, have Junmyeon pin him down and press marks all over his body. Yifan is fine with whichever comes first.   

Junmyeon can probably read his mind because his lips wander on Yifan’s neck, feather light presses onto Yifan’s skin that makes Yifan shiver. He inhales, puts the empty cup of tea he’d been holding on the side table, and let’s Junmyeon take over.

Yifan lies on his bed and he’s under Junmyeon whose hands are beneath Yifan’s clothes. Junmyeon touches so gently, slow circles on Yifan’s hip, lips lightly caressing Yifan’s jaw. It stokes a fire in Yifan’s gut, he exhales a shaky moan.

“I take it back.” Junmyeon whispers. “You’re pretty fucking perfect.”

Yifan breathes. “Fuck.”

Junmyeon kneels between Yifan’s thighs and grinds down. The action successfully sucks the air out of Yifan’s lungs. He grabs Junmyeon’s collar and crushes their lips together. Junmyeon has such perfect lips stemming from his addiction to flavored balms. Yifan tastes strawberry on his mouth.

“I want to make you cry.” Junmyeon says when they part. Yifan is near tears, it would be easy.

He’s so hard, and he wants Junmyeon to fuck him six ways to Sunday. The ministrations drive him mad, the alcohol merely fuels the liquid fire coursing through his veins.

Junmyeon kisses the side of his mouth. “Only if you knew what other things I want to do to you.”

Yifan gasps into Junmyeon’s mouth. “What?”

“Wanna fuck you.” Junmyeon’s voice is far too even for the words he sears onto Yifan’s skin, “See if I can make you cry and not because I’m breaking your heart but because it feels good. See if I can make you beg for it.”

It’s too much.

“Junmyeon, please.” Yifan pleads, digs his teeth on the skin of Junmyeon’s neck. “Please, please, please.” Yifan is going out of his mind. He leans up, craving friction, whatever Junmyeon can give him, he’ll take. Junmyeon unbuckles his belt, tugs down his pants and when Junmyeon finally touches him where he needs it the most, he fucking combusts.

Yifan’s entire body is sensitive to every miniscule touch as his climax washes over him. He brings down Junmyeon for a kiss, he can’t stop himself. Touch starved from pining after the artist for years has made him this needy. It’s a blessing that Junmyeon indulges.

“Want me to take care of that?”

“Go to sleep.” Junmyeon pecks his cheek. “I can take care of myself.”

“But Myeon.”

“Trust me. Go to sleep, love.”

Yifan’s insides melt.

 

//

 

The room is dim.

Junmyeon sees the outline of Yifan’s frame beside him, still in sleep. His soft snores the only disturbance to the night’s quiet. Junmyeon turns to his side, stares at the man, and smiles. He touches Yifan’s cheek, fingers pressed onto his skin, feather light.

He does love Yifan - platonic, romantic, sexual, and everything else in between - all feel most natural with him. They’re made for each other in this way, Junmyeon believes.

Love does wait.

Junmyeon can’t be anymore grateful that Yifan never wavered all these years and at the same time, he beats himself up over the fact that it took him _all these years_ to find something that has been in front of him from the beginning.

Junmyeon exhales quietly, then he leans forward and presses a kiss on Yifan’s forehead. The man stirs and opens his eyes.

“Did I wake you?” Junmyeon whispers the obvious. “I’m sorry.”

Yifan fits his arm around Junmyeon’s torso, “It’s okay,” pulls him closer against him. “You do it all the time.”

“Fan?”

“Hmm?”

“I just realized that I do love you, so much.”

“Yeah?”

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Yifan chuckles quietly, “I’m still too drunk to process a marriage proposal, but alright.”

Junmyeon burrows further into the heat that radiates from the pilot’s chest. Yifan feels like home. “Will you consider it?”

“Been in love with you for twelve years, Myeon. I was prepared to wait a few more lifetimes until you broke me with that confession a few days ago. I won’t just consider, I’m going to force you.”

Junmyeon laughs.

“Junmyeon, move in with me.”

“I technically live here, Fan.”

“Yes, but let’s make it official so you can start paying the bills.”

“Damn you.”

“I’m kidding. But really, give up your flat and just live here. Stay forever.”

“Alright.”

They bask in the comfort of each others’ presence. No one speaks for a few minutes until Yifan, half asleep, says:

“Call me love, one more time please.”

Junmyeon gently kisses Yifan’s collarbones. Yifan can feel him smile against his skin.

“Love.”

“I am lucky.”

“Don’t get used to it, Yifan.”

 

//

 

Nothing drastic changes about their relationship. 

Junmyeon wakes up that morning and trudges to the kitchen. There’s food on the breakfast counter, pancakes and immaculately cut kiwi. Yifan drinks his coffee, eyes boring onto his laptop.

“Good morning.” Junmyeon’s brain is half asleep. He kisses Yifan’s temple so unconsciously that he’s almost surprised by the normalcy of it. Yifan doesn’t budge from his spot. He seems busy answering his emails.

“Coffee on the pot.” The pilot says, furiously typing away. “Dang, insurance companies.”

Junmyeon chuckles as he pours black coffee into his chipped mug. “Out to get your wallet again this time?”

“They think they can fool me with these schemes, they should know better.”

“Of course. The great Wu Yifan, mighty Lord of Insurance, defender of the weak and helpless against shady investment schemes.”

Yifan finally looks up. He stares at Junmyeon and laughs. “You’re ridiculous, Myeon.”

“You love me anyway.”

“Yes, I do love you.”

They share a silent moment. Junmyeon remembers all the time this exact exchange happened between them. They’ve really come a long, long way. He drinks his coffee, and smiles.

“Hey, I’m on Instagram now. Baek told me I should look at your photos.”

Yifan pales, “No.”

“Why?”

The pilot scrambles for his phone, scanning through the application. His face is a couple of shades paler than his usual coloring. “No, you can’t.”

Junmyeon raises an eyebrow. “And why is that? Do you post nude photos of yourself, because what the fuck?”

“Of course not, don’t be stupid.”

“Then why? Just give me your username.”

Yifan vehemently shakes his head. “No.”

Later, when Junmyeon scrolls through the man’s feed and sees most of his face scattered over the screen, his heart swells. But of course, he’s never going to let Yifan live that down.

//

 

The wedding is extravagant, almost obnoxious in its lavishness. 

Junmyeon had seen the bride earlier, when Yifan helped her postpone an impending breakdown. They’re almost unethically close, but Junmyeon understood where she’s coming from and why Yifan was adamant on being there. They’re alike in a lot of ways and no one could have understood her better.

Now, Constance Yang walks on the deepest shade of maroon. Her beautiful face belie the panic that Junmyeon sees in her blue eyes. He’s sympathetic, there’s an ache deep in his gut and a sense of overwhelming relief.

If it took him longer, he could have ended up just like her. With Yifan marrying another person, he would have spent his life in regret.

He grabs Yifan’s hand, entwines their fingers together. He exhales.

“Are you alright?” Yifan asks as the wedding march plays. “Your hands are shaking.”

“I’m fine.” Junmyeon replies, clutching Yifan’s hand even harder. “I just wish them happiness, somewhat.”

The couple exchange wedding vows, kiss amicably and are sent off. The reception is even more lavish. Junmyeon enjoys the Dom Perignon that flows endlessly. His black tie is nowhere to be found.

“Constance tells me he’s a good man.” Yifan said a while back. “Some real estate heir, just the right business partner for Constance whose family runs a lot of prestigious hotels around Asia.”

Yifan looks unfairly attractive in his tuxedo.  

Constance comes looking for them after the rest of the guests leave. She’s in a pair of pants and some dress shirt. Her exhaustion is apparent even under makeup.

“Hey guys.” Her tone is broken, and tired. Junmyeon wants to hug her and he does. “Thanks a lot for being here, it means the world.”

“Thank you for inviting us.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Constance forces an amicable giggle, “Junmyeon, right? I’m very happy for you both.”

Yifan grabs her forearm, pulls her towards him. “Hey, it’s gonna be alright. Go visit us sometimes when you’re not busy being the businesswoman that you are.”

“I will, maybe I’ll be happy with James. Who knows?”

“Yes, do that. Be happy.”

//

 

“You’re something else.”

Yifan loosens his tie and throws it on their shared hotel bed. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Sometimes, I wanna punch you in your perfect teeth because you’re always so damn annoying. But at the end of the day, you’re alright. You’re kind, you’re reliable, and just amazing.”

“And you said it yourself, fucking perfect.” Yifan chuckles.

“Don’t be conceited.” Junmyeon approaches the man and he presses his body against him. “I just realized I liked kissing you. I might change my mind.”

Yifan cups his jaw and kisses him. Junmyeon wraps his arms around the man’s torso and revels in the feeling. When they part, Yifan pushes the both of them towards the bed, both laugh. Yifan nibbles on skin he can reach - ear, down Junmyeon’s jaw, the column of his pale neck. Junmyeon moans.

“Do you want me?” is whispered onto Junmyeon’s skin. “Tell me.”

“Please.”

Yifan removes his coat.

“So much fucking clothes.” Junmyeon complains, trying to tug off Yifan’s clothing. The pilot only grins at his impatience.

“You’re ruining the mood.” Yifan licks a stripe down Junmyeon’s neck. “First time we’re fucking and you can’t even be romantic about it.”

Junmyeon pushes Yifan off of him, rolls them both so that Yifan’s back is against the bed and Junmyeon’s straddles his thighs. He removes his own coat, throws the Armani somewhere on the floor. Yifan reaches for Junmyeon’s black dress shirt, foregoes the unbuttoning in favor of ripping through the fabric from the middle.

“You heathen.” Junmyeon says as Yifan scrapes his teeth on Junmyeon’s naked chest. Yifan laughs, partially detaches from Junmyeon’s skin to discard the rest of his clothes. They’re a mess. A tangle of long limbs, lips against skin, Yifan hands down the plane of Junmyeon’s body.

Yifan hits a weak spot on Junmyeon’s hip and Junmyeon begins to laugh.

“So,” Yifan kisses the same patch of skin. “You’re ticklish.”

“Stop,” Junmyeon wheezes. His face is red from both laughter and how turned on he is. “You know, sex doesn’t usually involve this much talking. I’m fucking naked -” Junmyeon moans when Yifan takes the tip of his cock into his mouth. “and, wow, __fuck,__ don’t stop.” He cards his fingers through Yifan’s hair and tugs.

“I’m going to hold this fact against you.”

Yifan comes up, kisses him deeply, passionately. Junmyeon’s toes curl.

“Hold it against me later.” Junmyeon gasps, “For now, fuck me.”

And Yifan does.

Junmyeon partially goes out of his mind.

Pain, pleasure, love, love, _love._

__

__//_ _

__

Naked legs tangle with white sheets. They’re awake, Yifan traces imaginary images on Junmyeon’s back.

“Myeon.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to marry me?”

Junmyeon fully opens his eyes. “What?”

“It’s just an idea or a possibility. If that’s what you want anyway.”

“No, enough about what I want.” Junmyeon caresses the pilot’s temple. “You’ve done so much for me, so, so much. For a change, let’s do what you desire, take it from me.”

Yifan smiles. “Why did I never expect this from you? This unbelievably tart straightforwardness will be my death.”

“Tart?”

“Sugary. I can almost taste it on the roof of my mouth. Who would’ve expected this from you, with all your sass and whines and dry wit?”

“Surprise. But really Yifan, what do you want?”

“You, and I have you, haven’t I?”

“Other than me?”

Junmyeon feels the touch of cold metal around his left ring finger. He stares at the jewelry that Yifan had slipped in, a nondescript gold band. He smiles.

“I want a life with you.”

“You’ll have it. Thirty years down, let’s do another sixty.”

“Do you think we’ll live that long?”

Junmyeon kisses him. “We will. And we’ll spend our next fucking lives together too.”

“So fucking sappy. You could have just said yes.”

“You love me anyway.”

“Yes, I do love you.”

It’s a promise.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol this chapter is so indulgently bad. goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> don't let this chapter's ending fool you. this fic is the sappiest i've gotten.


End file.
